


no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

by orphan_account



Category: BROCKHAMPTON (Band)
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bipolar Disorder, Chaotic Dumbasses, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Joba-centric, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Please Don't Hate Me, Please Don't Kill Me, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, The Author Regrets Everything, Trans Male Character, also I totally made ciaran trans fight me, half of bh is depressed and gay in this, honestly this is bad don't waste ur time, like lowkey lowkey, lowkey nonbinary merlyn, my apologies to bh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21689398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: no masters or kings when the ritual beginsthere is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sinin the madness and soil of that sad earthly sceneonly then I am humanonly then I am clean
Relationships: Bearface | Ciarán Ruaridh McDonald/Robert Ontenient, Kevin Abstract | Ian Simpson/Jaden Walker, Matt Champion/JOBA | Russell Boring
Kudos: 19





	1. On The Edge of Self-Destruction

It had been nearly four days since Joba last left his room. Matt was concerned, knocking on the door. When he got no response, he’d recruit Ian and Ciarán to knock as well, Ciarán nearly breaking down the door at one point.   
“Joba?” Matt asked through the door. No response, as per usual. “Russell, please, come out.”   
Ciarán and Ian had been standing with him but had to go stop Rob and Jabari from burning down the kitchen.   
Matt tried the door handle, and to his surprise, it turned. He pushed it open slightly to be hit with the smell of cigarettes and B.O. He pushed it open more and saw Joba laying on his mattress, staring at the wall with dried tear tracks on his face.   
“Russ?”   
Matt noticed a full ashtray on the floor.  
“You’ve been chainsmoking.”  
Joba didn’t reply, only shivering slightly. The other boy sat down on the mattress next to him and reached out a hand to stroke the side of Joba’s face.   
Matt looked around, noticing a full bottle of pills and an empty bottle of vodka.   
“You haven’t been taking your medication, have you?”  
Joba turned further away from him. Matt took that as a no.  
“Russ, you need to take them. You also need a shower. You fucking stink, bro.”  
The edges of Joba’s mouth twitched up slightly.  
“Joba, baby, please.”  
Joba shook his head.  
“I will get Ian and Ciarán to manhandle you into the bathroom.”  
Joba sighed lightly and turned to Matt. The tired and indifferent look in his eyes didn’t surprise Matt, but he didn’t like it nonetheless.   
He knew the older boy had difficulties with depression, but he’d never seen it like this. It was concerning, to say the least. He leaned down and kissed Joba’s forehead.   
He got up and left the room, leaving the door open. He was looking for Dom, Ashlan, and Rob, who would be the best bet when it came to dealing with Joba’s depression.  
Matt found Rob in the living room, playing Cards Against Humanity with Ciarán, Kiko, and Merlyn.   
“Rob,” he whisper-shouted. “I need ya.”  
The Spanish-Cuban stands and walks out with him, and they bumped into Dom and Ashlan talking. Matt summons all of them into his room.  
“So whatcha need, Matty C?” Dom asks. He snorts lightly.  
“I need advice. How do I get Joba outta his depressive episode? I wanna help him but I don’t know how to.”  
“You can clean up his room, help him take a shower. He’ll be a bit more alert after that,” Ashlan says.  
“Be patient with him, though. If you pressure him when he’s in the state you might hurt him more,” Rob adds.  
Matt thanks them and goes back to Joba. He hasn’t moved. The shorter boy opens the curtains and windows.   
“Russ, baby, let’s get up and get you in a bath.”  
Joba groans slightly but makes no move to get up. Matt goes over to him and presses a kiss to his cheek. And then another on his nose, and another on the corner of his mouth. Joba whines as Matt pulls away.  
“I’ll give you a proper kiss if you come with me to the bathroom, babe.”  
Joba reached out a hesitant hand, and Matt pulled him to his feet. The taller boy leaned on Matt, shaky, his stability and balance practically nonexistent. Matt led him out into the hallway bathroom. Ian gave him a thumbs-up from down the hall. Matt grabbed a clean towel from the linen closet (he mentally thanked Jon for doing laundry, because god knows Matt never did it).  
“Sweetheart, sit on the toilet while I turn on the tap.”  
Joba complied with a distant look in his eyes. He stared at the tile floor.   
The bathtub was soon full of hot water.  
“I’ll stand outside while you get undressed and get into the tub.”  
Joba vaguely nodded and stood. Matt left and Joba undressed, sinking into the water. Matt came back in.  
He kneeled next to him and suddenly noticed a smattering of thin red lines on Joba’s wrists.   
“Oh, Boba, no…” he trailed off. Tears slipped out of the older boy’s eyes.  
Matt said nothing more, simply washed Joba’s hair. He cleaned him up and helped him out of the bath, wrapping him in a fluffy purple towel (it was likely Merlyn’s).  
As they went back into Joba’s room, he noticed that the empty bottles and cigarettes had been cleared away. There’s a fan going. It smells less like smoke and more like Joba. Matt threw a plain blue shirt and a pair of jeans on the bed for Joba to put on. He dressed, and Matt locked hands with him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.  
“I love you, Boba,” he whispered.  
Joba smiled lightly. The duo went into the kitchen where Jabari and Romil were arguing about something stupid. They stopped upon seeing Joba out of his room, and the tall boy uncomfortably rubbed his arms.   
Dom entered the room, and noticed the red cuts on Joba’s arms, and rushed to his side.  
“Russ, what’d you do?” He asked, the sound of tears forced at bay present in his voice.  
Joba said nothing but stared at the floor. Dom knew that forcing him to talk wasn’t going to help anything, so he made no other move.   
“Baby, want me to make you some ramen? You need to eat,” Matt whispered. Joba nodded slightly, leaving the kitchen to sit soundlessly on the couch, observing the still-going game of CAH.   
“Wanna join?” Rob asked. The other boy had nothing better to do, so he nodded. He was dealt his cards.  
About ten minutes into the game, Matt entered, bearing two steaming bowls of ramen.   
Joba took one, smiled at Matt, then flipped off Ciarán.   
“That bitch threw a card at me,” he defended.   
“Oh, fuck off, Russell,” the Irishman replied.

It was later, when Russell and Matt were in bed, that Matt brought up the cuts on Russell’s wrists.  
“Baby, can you tell me why you did this?” he asked, tracing them with his finger.   
“I- I don’t know. I just felt so numb that I needed something to ground me, to remind me that I still have feelings, even if it’s pain.”  
Matt kissed him softly and asked him to talk to him instead of hurting himself next time.   
“I love you, Russ, and I don’t wanna lose you.”


	2. In Which Merlyn Gets Banned From Cooking And Ciarán Is Drunk And Sad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi there's lowkey nsfw shit in this chapter but it isn't graphic, and there's also a bit of actual self harm in here, and a bitch ass reference to that one orestes quote

"I swear to fucking god, Merlyn, I will beat your ass if you set off the smoke alarms again."  
"How do you fuck up rice? What the fuck?"  
Matt awoke to a very stern conversation directed at Merlyn coming from the kitchen. He yawned slightly, standing, and tucking the blanket over Joba. Then he went to see what Merlyn did this time.  
"What the hell are y'all doing?" he asked while walking into the kitchen.  
"This dumbass burned rice and set off the smoke alarms," Ciarán said, jabbing a finger at Merlyn. "Anyway, Matt, how's Russell?"  
"Fine. He's sleeping. Have to make him take his meds when he gets up, he hasn't been taking 'em."  
At that moment Jon walked in, took in the view of the burnt rice and awful smell, and declared Merlyn hereby banned from the kitchen and cooking. The aforementioned person threw their hands up in dismay and walked out, presumably to go smoke on the porch.  
Matt shook his head, making his way back to his bedroom. Joba was awake, sitting up in bed, but not moving.  
"Russ, baby, what's the matter?" Matt asked, kneeling next to the taller boy.  
He weakly shook his head. He didn't have an answer.  
"Can we get some food, and you can take your medication?"  
A nod. That was progress.  
"I'll take care of you."  
Joba shook his head.  
"It's rotten work."  
"Not to me. Not if it's you."

Matt and Joba had gotten Whataburger and caught Romil and Jabari sitting just a little too close on the couch, and subsequently told Kiko about it. 

It was later. Ciarán had an argument with Rob. The two didn't yell, because they tried not to, but the fight had gotten heated and Rob left to calm down.  
Ciarán felt awful. He raided the liquor cabinet, taking the bottle of vodka and mixing it with some leftover soda from the fridge.  
He locked his bedroom door, taking swigs of the drink, and let out the choked sobs he'd been holding back.  
"Fuck. Fuck!" he yelled, kicking his dresser and sinking to the floor against it. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. He was terrified he might've just ruined the best relationship he'd ever had.  
He took another swig. The alcohol was beginning to take effect. He lit a cigarette, staring at the small flame of the lighter. He let it go out.  
He took the cigarette out of his mouth, contemplated for a moment, and pressed the end against the inside of his arm. Letting a hiss escape his lips, the boy removed it and pressed it to another spot.  
A knock at the door startled him, and he dropped it.  
"Shit!"  
"Ci, it's Matt. Are you alright?"  
"Yeah, don't- don't come in."  
"You sound like you're in pain. Let me in, I want to help," Matt pleaded.  
"Matt, no. Just leave me alone."  
"Ciarán, you know I can't do that if you're in pain."  
"It's nothing you can fix. Go away."

MattChampion: come home, something's wrong with ciaran and i need u  
RobertOntentient: whats wrong with him?  
MattChampion: i dont know, he wont let me in, but he might talk to you  
RobertOntentient: omw

A knock sounded at Ciarán's door.  
"What?" he spat, not bothering to get up.  
"It's Russell, can I come in?"  
"Did Matt send you?"  
Joba told him, no, he came on his own free will. So, Ciarán hesitantly unlocked the door, allowing Joba to come in.  
Joba looked at the mess in the room. The Irishman was still drinking his vodka concoction. He had pulled off his shirt at some point, leaving him in only his white binder. The pale scars on his arms contrasted with the dime-sized welts on his forearm. Joba sighed, running a hand through his hair.  
"You burned yourself with a cigarette, didn't you?"  
Ciarán stiffened. He looked at the taller boy.  
"What- what are you talking about?" he asked cautiously.  
"I know what cigarette burns look like, Ci, I have scars from them myself." To prove his point, He rolled up his sleeve to reveal circular scars on his shoulder. The other let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.  
"Yeah, I did. But you can't tell Rob or Matt. They'll flip their shit and won't leave me alone."  
"You need to tell them, so they can help you. I can bandage these and you can put a hoodie on to hide them, but you have to tell Rob at least." Reluctantly, Ciarán agreed. Joba retrieved the first aid kit, grabbing the bandages, gauze, tape, and antibiotic cream. He skillfully cleaned and wrapped Ciarán's arm, and he threw on a Dr Dre hoodie he stole from Dom.  
"Ci? Are you in there?" Rob. Shit, Ciarán thought.  
"That's my cue, make sure to tell him," Joba said, opening the door and leaving, which allowed Rob to enter.  
"Rob," Ciarán breathed. The Spanish boy tackled him in a hug.  
"I was so worried. Matt texted me that something was wrong, but he couldn't say what. I thought you'd done something bad," Rob said. Ciarán winced and rubbed the back of his neck.  
"I... Well, I may have kinda done something bad," he said softly. Rob looked up at him with worried eyes. He rolled up his sleeve revealing the stark white bandages. "I burned myself with a cigarette. Russ helped fix it up, though."  
"Ciarán, why?" The other asked. "Why would you... it was because of me, wasn't it?"  
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," Ciarán whimpered, burying his face in the other's chest.  
"It's okay, mi amor, it's alright. We'll get through this, yeah?"

Joba sat down heavily on his bed next to Matt. He ran his shaky hands through his hair.  
"What's wrong, baby?" Matt asked.  
"Nothin'." Joba pressed a kiss to Matt's lips. Joba moved so he was sitting on the other's lap, and slipped his tongue into Matt's mouth. It was getting hot and messy. His hands ran down Matt's chest, grabbing at the hem, pulling off the shirt. Matt slid off Joba's shirt and bit the place where his neck met his shoulder, causing him to shiver slightly.  
"I love you," Matt breathed on the other boy's neck. He peppered bites and sweet kisses over Joba's neck and chest.  
The two managed to free themselves from their pants. Joba grinded down on Matt, making him moan quietly. He rocked his hips, biting down on Matt's neck where he wouldn't be able to hide a hickey. The shorter boy bucked his hips up slightly. Joba caught Matt's lips with his and kissed him, slowly, sensually, but messily, as his other hand worked down to give the other a messy handjob.  
They grinded against each other. It wasn't long until Matt came, punctuated by a loud moan, and Joba followed soon after.  
The two collapsed on each other, sweaty and spent, but so caught up in the comfortable closeness that they didn't mind the mess they'd made.  
"I love you so much," Joba sighed, tracing Matt's tattoo with his finger. Matt smiled, pulling him close, and closing his eyes.

"Did y'all hear that?" Romil asked. Kiko, Jabari, and Jon looked up.  
"Hear what?" Kiko questioned.  
"Someone's fucking. I can't tell who."  
"Bet you twenty bucks it was Matt and Russell," Jabari said to Jon.  
"You're on, Bari."

Matt and Joba awoke a couple of hours later at dinner time. They threw on random clothes, and Matt inspected his neck in the mirror.  
"Christ, babe, you did a number on me," he said. Joba wrapped his arms around Matt's waist.  
"I could say the same about you."  
They managed to stumble out into the kitchen, where Rob was making some sort of paella.  
"Fuck you, Jabari," Jon said, pulling out a crumpled $20 and handing it to the man.  
"I fucking knew it!" Romil shouted triumphantly.  
"Knew what?"  
"That you two were fucking! We heard it in the living room!"  
Joba's face went bright red, and Matt flipped the Middle Eastern man off.  
"That was totally you," Joba whispered in Matt's ear.  
"Oh, fuck you."  
"You already did."  
"Get a goddamn room," Ian called from the living room.  
Matt laughed, pulling Joba into a kiss, earning groans from all their friends.


	3. Two Weeks Later (Depression Isn't A Virtue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE ATTEMPT, MENTIONED SELF-HARM, MENTAL ISSUES, AND SLIGHT BLOOD MENTION*

Getting a frantic call from Matt at one in the morning wasn’t exactly Ian’s favorite thing. He was barely awake, let alone able to process what Matt was saying through tears on the other end of the line. He did catch to words: Russell and suicide. He jumped out of bed, waking Jaden in the process.  
“Where are you?” he asked. Matt said they were at the hospital.   
“I’m on my way,” he said, hanging up. Ian pulled on random clothes.  
“What happened?” Jaden asked.   
“I-I think Joba attempted suicide. They’re at the hospital.”  
“I’ll drive you,” Jaden said, pulling clothes on himself.  
They made it to the hospital, and as soon as they entered the waiting room, a sobbing Matt launched himself at Ian.  
“He-he slit his wrists,” Matt cried into Ian’s chest. “He lost so much blood.”  
“Matt Champion?” A nurse called into the waiting room.   
“Yes?” He asked, pulling away from Ian and walking over to the nurse. “Is he okay?”   
“Russell lost a lot of blood, but we were able to repair the damage. Physically, he’ll be fine. Mentally, we don’t know. Does Russell have any mental disorders that you know of?”  
“He has bipolar disorder and DID, at least, that’s what I know of. He was on medication but stopped taking it. I don't know why.”  
“Okay. He isn’t awake, which is good, because he needs rest, but you can go see him.”  
Matt thanked the nurse and relayed the message to Ian and Jaden. Matt was led to Joba’s room, where the taller boy lay in a stark white hospital bed, matching bandages covering his wrists. Tubes and wires were splayed around him like sinister tendrils.  
“Joba,” he breathed. He collapsed on his knees next to the bed, taking one of Joba’s hands in his own. “What have you done to yourself?”   
Ian had followed him, after arguing with the nurse, and gave him a chair.   
“Matt, in the morning we gotta tell everyone else that Joba’s in the hospital,” he said. “I’m gonna be with Jaden in the waiting room if you need us. We’ll get you breakfast and coffee in the morning.”  
Matt weakly nodded, and Ian left.  
He fell asleep with his head on the bed.

Joba cracked open his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that he was in pain. He opened his eyes more and noticed a mound of fluffy brown hair next to his hip.  
“Matt,” he breathed.  
The other lifted his head.  
“Joba, baby,” he said, wrapping his arms around him.   
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”  
“It’s okay, baby. We’re gonna get you help.”  
Ian entered the room with a bag of food and coffee.   
“I brought y’all breakfast so you don’t have to eat nasty ass hospital food.”  
“Thanks, E. Did you tell everyone else?”  
“Yeah. Ci, Rob, and Dom are here already.”  
“Do you wanna see them?” Matt asked Joba softly. Joba nodded slightly.  
“Alright, send in the motherfuckers.”

Ciarán had received the call from Ian at six that morning. It had honestly scared the shit out of him. He knew that Joba had issues, but he didn’t think it would go far enough for him to attempt suicide.   
He had quickly thrown on clothes, waking Rob, and the two arrived at the hospital in record time.  
“Is he alright?” he asked Ian frantically, his Irish accent more prominent when he was tired.  
“He’s fine, he just lost a lot of blood. Matt’s in his room with him.”   
Ciarán breathed a sigh of relief.   
Dom came a few minutes later, looking extremely frazzled.   
Ian repeated the news to him. 

The three boys entered Joba’s hospital room. Joba noticed dried tears on Dom’s face, a trembling Ciarán, and a nervous Rob.  
“Fuck, man, don’t ever scare us like that again,” Dom cried, launching himself at Joba. Ciarán sat on the side of the bed and Rob stood at the end.  
“Russ, why’d you...?” Ciarán trailed off.  
“I, I guess I just couldn’t handle it anymore. All the fuckin’ voices in my head pointing out every mistake, saying that Matt didn’t really love me and that you all merely tolerated me. I just wanted it to stop. I didn’t have any drugs or alcohol because Matt tossed my entire liquor cabinet. I still had my razors though, Matt never found them. It was the easiest way out.” His voice broke at the end.   
“Baby, I can’t- I don’t know what’d I do if you died. I wouldn’t be able to live knowing that I’d never see your smile, or your ever-changing hairstyles, hell, even the cigarettes and Red Bull on your desk next to your computer. That’d I’d never see your blue eyes or your freckles. I don’t want you to leave me, Russ, I love you too much.” Matt had started crying again. Russell began crying as well.   
“Russell, we all love you, so much. You’re our brother. We’re family, aren’t we? Family ‘til the end,” Ian said.  
“Who else would be our resident genius? The one who makes the rest of us look short on stage?” Dom asked. “The one who changes his hair so often you can tell what era a photo’s from based on that?”  
“Without you, we’d never hear you working on a song too late at night, or sleeping so late we’d think you weren’t home.”  
“We love you, dude.”  
Joba was crying even harder. A nurse came in and checked his vitals.  
“Mr. Boring, a psychiatrist will be coming in later for evaluation. Is that alright?” she asked.  
“Fine.”

She didn’t lie. A psychiatrist arrived about an hour later when only Matt was left in the room.  
“Can he stay?” Joba asked.   
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” the psychiatrist said. “So, Russell, can you tell me a little bit about your life?”  
“I... I’m from Texas. I basically grew up in counseling, I have a history of- of bipolar disorder and dissociative identity disorder. Everyone thought I was crazy, a fucking psycho, doing drugs and drinking when I couldn’t deal with my thoughts and my mood stabilizers and antidepressants failed me,” he cut himself off with a choked sob.   
“It’s never gotten this bad in the time that I’ve known him. Honestly, finding him passed out in the bathroom in a pool of his own blood scared me more than anything,” Matt interjected.  
“Russell, you said you were on mood stabilizers and antidepressants. Are you still taking them?” the psychiatrist asked. Joba shook his head.  
“I couldn’t afford the appointments and prescriptions. I was living on disability. I stopped taking them when we moved to San Marcos. I lived with the rest of the band, fell in love, and I was better until we moved to LA. Depression hit harder, I started smoking more, staying up far too late and sleeping far too long. I knew I needed the medication back, but I hated it when I was on it, it made me feel off and it was shit. Soon it- it got so bad I just wanted to die but I couldn’t. I had to be there for the band and I didn’t want to hurt Matt, and- and-“ he started to sob again. Matt held him close to his chest, running hands through his blonde hair, whispering words of comfort.   
“Are there people who can stay with you when you go home, as a precaution?”   
“You’re scared I’ll attempt again? Because I’m fucking crazy?” Joba asked through his tears.   
“There’s thirteen of us, there can always be at least one person with him,” Matt said.   
“I think that we should prescribe you antidepressants, mood stabilizers, and anti-anxiety medication. We’re going to get you better, okay, Russell?”   
Joba cried harder into Matt’s chest.   
“When can he go home?”  
“Today.” 

The doctor came in, changed Joba’s bandages, took out the IV, and told him he was free to go whenever. Merlyn brought him clothes, and he changed, wearing a loose hoodie that covered the thick white bandages on his wrists.   
They itched. The long slits marred his pale skin, angry red against a white backdrop. They had to be stitched closed, which made them itch even more.   
This wasn’t the first time his mental disorders landed him in the hospital. In high school, he overdosed on his antidepressants. In his freshman year of college, he tried to hang himself. His mother dragged him to doctor after doctor, always putting him on new pills or therapy or some bullshit. The worst was when she tried to pray away his disorders. He loved religion, but there are certain things it won’t fix.   
He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind. He grabbed Matt’s hand in an attempt to ground himself.  
“You know I love you, right?”  
“Yeah, Joba, I know. And I love you too. So much.”

They got home, and Joba went to the bathroom. Luckily, no one else was home.   
“Matt?” he called.  
“Yeah?”  
“Where are my razors?”  
“I told Ciarán to throw them away.”  
“Why?!” Joba was getting upset.  
“You don’t need them.”  
“Yes, I do! They’re insurance,” Joba said, “That if it ever gets too hard, I’ll have a way out.”  
“Russell, I’m not letting you have that kind of insurance.”  
“Where are my cigarettes?”  
“On your soundboard, as usual,” Matt replied. Joba lit one up. 

“Baby, let’s go to bed,” Matt said, leaning on Joba’s chair.  
“I wanna finish this.”  
“You can keep mixing tomorrow, let’s go to bed.”  
Matt dragged Joba to their bedroom. He forced him into bed.  
“You know I love you right?” Matt mumbled into Joba’s hair.  
“I love you too, Matty,” Joba said into Matt’s neck. “So much.”


End file.
